


A Breath of Fresh Air

by lferion



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf Culture & Customs, Ents, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: Gimli, trees, and fresh air.





	A Breath of Fresh Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naegling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naegling/gifts).



> Thank you to one of the Usual Suspects, without whom this story would not exist at all. Thanks are also due to Empy.

Gimli leaned against the tree. The out of place tree, that he didn't remember being there earlier in the week. But earlier in the week had been chaos of people dashing about, the shoring up of walls and the triage of people needing everything under the sun. Noticing the presence or absence of a tree was not a thing Gimli would expect of himself. Legolas now, Legolas would have noticed. But he was not currently here to ask, a lack that Gimli felt surprisingly keenly. That lack was partly why he'd chosen the tree to rest under, though if the past was an indication, Legolas would not first look for him there, when he was done with whatever his task was this afternoon.

Contrary to legend and common thought, Dwarves did not hate trees. Most did think of them more as material — wood for carving, building, turning into paper, burning for charcoal or cooking or warmth; providing food, fruit, nuts, shade, stability to hillsides and shelter from storms — then as things of beauty and life in their own selves. But enough were sensible of their inherent value by existing that it was not unusual for a Dwarf to enjoy them for their own sake, as Gimli did. Not that they were eager to share that with the Elves. 

(Legolas understood the trust Gimli had in him, to allow him, [not merely an Elf, but one of the Woodland Realm, with whom relations were still …delicate,] to witness and take part in a Dwarf's appreciation for Yavanna's work. Just as Gimli understood that Legolas revealing to him his comfort with and understanding of the value of stone and deep delving and the wonders of Mahal's works was a gift not lightly given.)

The world tended to think of Dwarves as invariably workers in metal and stone, but Gimli was not a metal-smith, as it happened, beyond the basic knowledge needed to maintain his weapons, tools, armor and gear, expected of any Dwarf. Nor was his calling for numbers and coin and slippery relations of price and value, the working of trade and commerce. He was a word-smith, a speaker, one who crafted idea into language. A maker of names. A rarer skill, and one kept strictly within the Mountain unless there happened to be great need. And as trying and challenging as this entire adventure had been, there had been no such need. (If Aragorn had not left the Wind from the East to him, singing Boromir to his last journey, it might have been a different story. The whole of the world did not need to know that Dwarves valued Speakers as they did.) 

Gimli was not quite sure why he was in such an introspective frame of mind. Perhaps it simply was that there was time for it now. After a fashion. Sauron defeated, Aragorn crowned. This was the pause between the return of the King and the royal wedding. The world had changed. The stones of the city sang it, even as he dredged up memories of Bombur's lessons on setting foundations and the principles of stonework that would last, so to direct the eager but less than knowledgable Men in the repairs to the second-level gate area. (Just because it wasn't his Work didn't mean he didn't know quite a lot.) 

Gimli didn't mind busy. Busy was good. Busy focused the mind and steadied the hand and got the thing — work, task, battle — done. Busy noise was also a good: forges and hammers and the work of shaping stone could be very loud indeed, as could a hall of celebrating Dwarves, but there was purpose in the clatter and clang, merriment in the laughter and banging of tankards on tables and boots on flagstones. 

But Dwarves valued quiet as well, breathing room, time to think, to plan, to polish the gem to the perfect sheen. His thoughts seemed to want some polishing, though he wasn't quite sure what kind of sheen they would take, what Words it was that were working their way up from the depths. 

Minas Tirith was polishing things certainly, at a frantic and furious pace. Though the words tended toward the rough-hewn. There was a time an a place for that too. Still, Gimli appreciated that he was free from obligation for a span, free to find an out of the way spot and collect his thoughts.

So Gimli leaned back against the tree, appreciating the broad bole and the generous shade of the leafy branch that arched over him. There was *something* about it that poked at him (like a twig, or a misplaced pebble) but he was too comfortable and too happy to be away from the sheer busyness of the city to let it worry him. He wasn't even the only Dwarf in the city — if someone wished for Dwarven skill or advice (not, admittedly, very likely) they could seek out Master Dwalin, or Frarúr or Glódis, Erebor's emissaries. For the moment, he was very content to be quite by himself. Though that too was not precisely right.

Until the tree rustled as if in a high wind, though the air was still, and let out a sound like a cross between a great horn and a groan "Hoom hom! Hurarrum hoom hurr hom! How find you my shade, master Dwarf?" 

Gimli bolted straight upward, considerably startled. Not a tree, out of place or otherwise. An Ent. What was an Ent doing here? 

Come for the wedding, presumably. How Legolas would laugh at his startlement. It would certainly make for a good tale. And why shouldn't an Ent come? Neither Aragorn nor Arwen would be anything but pleased.

Gimli straightened himself up and made his best bow. Time to prove his words were not just air "Master Ent, I find your shade very pleasant and refreshing. I hope I did not disturb your contemplation or repose."

"Hom hoom, no, Master Gimli, i was not reposing. I am drinking new waters and tasting new air, and feeling my sap rise quick and strong. Even Quickbeam would call me hasty." The Ent rustled its leaves, the white undersides flashing in the westering light. "The East Wind has a note I have not heard in an age, since I was an Enting. I am thinking of composing a greeting to it."

Gimli grinned, and took a deep breath. The easterly breeze was soft, and there was no taste of ash or fume in it, only scoured stone and summer grass. A different wind indeed from the bitter and sharp wind that had pried and harried them on the journey. A tree after his own mind. "An excellent thought. May I join you?"

"Haroom! Yes! Let us make verse."

And thus it was that when Legolas made his way up the hill (recognizing the tree for an Ent, even from a distance), he found Gimli and the Ent arguing companionably over words. Gimli saw him coming, and the expression on his face was such a mix of startlement and happiness that Gimli could but laugh, everything now right with his world, with his friend here with him.


End file.
